


speculum speculorum (mirror of mirrors)

by houfukuseisaku



Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Genderfluid Character, LGBTQ Themes, Multi, Neurodiversity, Vocaloid Headcanons, maintaining relationships takes effort! and communication!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24922501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houfukuseisaku/pseuds/houfukuseisaku
Summary: When Hatsune Miku loves someone, she loves them with her whole heart. Those who know her know this to be true.Right now, there is only one person in her heart. There is room for more, always room for more, more love in her heart than she knows what to do with, love of all sorts too but she’s always been a sucker for the romantic kind, sentimentally sappy as she is. Perhaps, in some close, distant, nebulous future, she will love more than who she loves now, or she will love someone else, or—heavens forbid—she will no longer love at all.Perhaps. Right now, though, there is only one person in her heart of hearts. Someone who makes her smile and frown and laugh and cry, sour sometimes and salty other times yet never bittersweet, and she hopes she in turn inspires the same.
Relationships: Akita Neru/Hatsune Miku, Hatsune Miku/Kagamine Rin, background Neru/Haku
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Neru

**Author's Note:**

> Got a bunch of Vocaloid headcanons mish-mashed into this fic here! Lots of projection going on, too. Vocaloids are like blank slates and I love them all the more for that. Easy to pick yourself apart piece by piece, when you give a bunch of fill-in-the-gap characters those myriad traits and see how they all interact with each other.
> 
> In other words, an introspection of my own thoughts and feelings, dressed up in teal and love. Hope you enjoy reading this piece as much as I loved writing it, and there are at least two more chapters in the works. You'll see, you'll see.
> 
> \--H

When Hatsune Miku loves someone, she loves them with her whole heart. Those who know her know this to be true.

Right now, there is only one person in her heart. There is room for more, always room for more, more love in her heart than she knows what to do with, love of all sorts too but she’s always been a sucker for the romantic kind, sentimentally sappy as she is. Perhaps, in some close, distant, nebulous future, she will love more than who she loves now, or she will love someone else, or—heavens forbid—she will no longer love at all.

Perhaps. Right now, though, there is only one person in her heart of hearts. Someone who makes her smile and frown and laugh and cry, sour sometimes and salty other times yet never bittersweet, and she hopes she in turn inspires the same.

She loves this person, this other half but she never believes in such things, that cruel concept of _soulmates bound by red thread_. What a miserable existence, waiting for a fated someone to fill in the gaps of you. No, no, that won’t do, what a miserable concept of existence indeed. People are born whole and without holes. To love and be loved is the icing on the cake, making sweeter what already was sweet.

O, humanity! Already complete yet seeking greater completion for completeness. Selfish and greedy and she too is the same, so there’s no shame in that.

Besides, this person is already two halves of a whole and she loves them all the same. But it wouldn’t be fair of her to say that, no. Sometimes they are three thirds of a triad, sometimes they are further fragments of fractions that make up a full one hundred percent. She loves and is loved by them all the same.

O, Miku! Waxing and waning poetic, such a dramatic scriptwriter. Writing words when the play is already in motion, _in medias res._ Fool girl, she’s going to be late, late for a very important date! Not that dates prior heretofore are unimportant, heavens no, but each she cherishes like a treasure, an ever-growing pile of days, her dragon’s hoard counted in hours and seconds and minutes.

She checks her watch and finds it ten minutes past due, cringes. The bus won’t go any faster even if she fidgets without direction so she fidgets with direction instead. The direction being up-down-up-down, clickety-clack, buttons and knobs and wheels for her to press and turn and spin so that she isn’t the one pressing and turning and spinning in her seat.

Wonderful, thoughtful gift, this little box of miracles in her hand. Coloured teal too, just the way she likes it, bright and saturated and eye-catching. She reminds herself to find a suitable counter-gift, perhaps a white ribbon shiny and new.

The person she loves loves white ribbons, she’s learned and fondly remembers ever since, whether it be adorning a hairband or tied in a ponytail—sometimes neither, a knot of fabric kept in a pocket where it can be cherished without being seen. Hidden, guilty pleasure.

That’s alright, that’s alright, they all have their bad days but they are outweighed or at least evenly-matched by the good ones so it’s alright. They’ve survived all their bad days yet.

The bus finally slows to a stop so she palms the small teal cube back into her handbag and checks her watch: only twelve minutes late? _Only two minutes have passed?_ It feels like she’s been monologuing for hours, the voice in her head narrating commentary nonstop because the not-silence otherwise would deafen her. An unpleasant sort of noisy noise but one that will be swiftly replaced by another, heavens willing.

Heavens, heavens. She’s never been big on the idea of the all-seeing eye in the sky, heavens no, but there’s something comforting in that blue expanse hanging overhead like a Sword of Damocles, always ready to drop at any given moment. Skyfall, world’s end, they say. When that time comes everyone will meet their god or gods face-to-face, and what then? Judgement says some, reincarnation says others, all valid in her eyes. There’s a reason for faith, not the least being comfort and an explanation for the unknown.

Not for her, though. _Skyfall, world’s end dancehall,_ she thinks. When she dies she will return to the sky where she belongs, maybe a star, maybe a speck of stardust, up there in the great wide blue ocean where she can rain her overflowing love down upon others like tears bitter and sweet.

Hop-step, one-two, and lover beloved’s hand is in her own, the other handily handing over a handphone. It’s one of those days, then, where voice won’t come forth so easily.

_You’re late,_ the words on the screen say. _That’s not nice._

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Miku whispers apologies into her lover’s ears, twice over—because it’s Neru today and Neru isn’t one for things half-assed. “Make it up to you?”

Handphone snatched out of her hands, handphone returned to her hands. New words. _Ice cream._

Miku cringes. She doesn’t like ice cream much, the texture all wrong in her mouth and the temperature even worse. But there are more words so she bravely soldiers on, knowing that Neru won’t throw her under the bus so easily.

_Ice cream,_ the words say, and then written below: _For me, cake for you._

O, cake! She loves cake, especially when it’s warm with fudge and covered in icing to hell and high-water. Make sweeter what already was sweet to begin with.

Miku hums, wordless words of a song she’s repeated and will continue to repeat over and over again simply because she finds the shape of them pleasing in her mouth and her mind. “Sounds good! Where?” She agrees and asks, squeezing Neru’s hand once, twice. Wordless codewords, their own unwritten language that means, _you choose, I can’t decide._

Neru squeezes her hand back, once, thumb brushing over knuckles. Without words written or voiced, they lead her through the jungle of the urban city, down streets and across avenues, spiralling in circles growing ever greater so as to not tread ground that they’ve already trodden.

_It’s good exercise,_ Miku thinks, and it works out the nervous energy that’s built up in her without her realizing. Her heart beats with love at that; trust Neru to notice things about her that she doesn’t notice herself.

When the city lights and noises threaten to overwhelm her, they take a break. Leaning against a wall or squatting upon pavement. Miku hates the city, too much _everything_ for her silence-starved brain. But her lover hates the countryside and all the peace it drowns in. Understandable. The countryside isn’t so forgiving, isn’t so accepting as the all-consuming city. A quaint little hometown community that treats strangers like strays.

It’s a compromise. On alternate weeks she travels back and forth between home and not-home, and when Miku gets overwhelmed there will be headphones and a handphoneful of her favourite songs interspersed with enough white noise for her to drown in.

Skyfall, world’s end dancehall. The blue overhead isn’t as blue as the blue back in the countryside, but city blue has its own appeal, she supposes. Got lots of things in the sky besides clouds for her eyes to follow, meandering things like her own meandering thoughts.

So meandering, in fact, that she doesn’t realize they’re at their destination until they’re there, seated in a quaint little homely café with that waiter who dotes on them like a goofy big brother.

“Heyya, Miku, Neru.” Kaito chirps, and Miku’s proud of him for figuring it out in less than a blink of an eye. He’s had a few mishaps before, called names of people who weren’t there and mistook an other for another. He’s gotten good at it now, the champ, knows where to look and see. No ribbon to be seen, so Neru it is.

“Hi, Kaito.” Miku returns in greeting, then adds, “Neru says hi too.” She gets a poke in the shoulder for that, and her throat closes up—boundary overstepped? But no, gentle fingers soothe the jab afterwards, chairlegs walking over to move Neru’s seat closer to hers, head nearly knocking against head. Neru breathes a little _hello_ against her ear, silent.

Kaito catches the way their lips move and smiles all the same. Lovebirds, the two of them. He taps finger on tablet, knowing their order before they’ve ordered. “The usual?” He asks as a courtesy. Wouldn’t do for him to presume too much, though he knows their routine, ingratiated and integrated as he is. Miku hums and Neru nods so that’s a _yes_ from them both.

“One fudge sundae and one fudge chocolate cake, coming right up!” Kaito crows, calling the kitchen staff to action. Miku watches him go with eyes half-lidded, sunning herself in the familiarity of his sunshine personality. He’s a good man, that Kaito, maybe not too clever but what he lacks in smarts he makes up for with smiles.

She laces her fingers with Neru, letting herself fade out a bit. She’s not gone, per se, and Neru knows that, knows that they can pull her out of her little private mindscape with ease. But the café, comfortable as it is, is not without its faults, that being: it’s a little _too_ comfortable for her tastes, customers all chatting each other up like a quaint little hometown community.

Easier to retreat to the safety of her own thoughts than make small-talk and having to explain with words that never come easy to her no matter how much she’s rehearsed them. Sometimes her beloved lover will take the helm, but today’s one of _those_ days so they simply enjoy each other’s company in quiet peace, hand in hand and shoulder to shoulder.

When she fades back in with a little brush of Neru’s thumb across her knuckles, there’s a generous slice of fudgy, chocolatey cake waiting in front of her. _Eat me,_ it cries, _eat me and be merry! You have your cake, now eat it too!_

So she does, savouring every bite. _Yum, delicious, heavens above this is amazing,_ praise falls from her lips like water falls from a waterfall. Neru listens to her every word, hangs onto them like caught shooting stars that they may polish them to shining and squirrel them away in the akashic record archives of their brain.

Miku’s voice is a blessed thing, Neru knows this like it’s an undeniable truth, and absence makes the heart grow fonder. When Miku goes back home to the countryside and they lie awake in their city bed counting the hours, minutes, seconds until they can meet again, Neru will take a soundbyte of Miku-sounds from their memory-library and play it back, forth, back, forth, until the lonely void of their psychological world takes on a teal hue and doesn’t feel as lonely.

Miku-and-Neru eat their cake-and-ice cream in blissful, blissed-out relative silence. Relative to the relative distance between them and the next café customer, but still. When cake reduces to smears of icing cream and ice cream reduces to smears of cream without ice, Neru rises from their seat, careful to give Miku a pat on the shoulder before they drift apart.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder but that doesn’t make the pain of separation hurt any less, and they both know the numbering of their numbered time, seconds tick-tocking like hearts going ba-bump. Before sunset Miku will leave and Neru will be left with a fortnight of carefully-rationed happiness to tide them over until the time comes again for them to meet.

O, traitorous heart! Why then do they linger too long at the counter, look longingly too long at the cashier? _It’s the girl with white hair and red eyes,_ Neru thinks. The girl whose voice they’ve also come to love, and Neru fears that they won’t have enough love in their heart to love both.

They’re not like Miku, heart-container overflowing with love. Their love is measured in scraps fought for and hard-won, jumbled puzzle pieces forcefully fitted together to make an incohesive whole. Miku had earned Neru’s love over countless days and here Neru is, ready to give it away to another in a heartbeat. How capricious, how cruel. Miku would say otherwise but Miku is kind like that, kinder than Neru deserves.

“Haku.” Miku greets, jolting Neru from their thoughts. Teal hair tickles their shoulder as Miku leans over to give the shy cashier a shy smile of her own. “Pretty today.”

“U-uh, um, thanks.” Haku stammers, not out of timidity but because of familiarity. If it were any other stranger she simply wouldn’t have said a word; Miku-and-Neru are near and dear to her, perhaps one moreso than the other, if she allows herself to be as selfish and greedy as humans can be. “They’ve a-already paid, so. Thank you f-for your patronage?”

Miku hums, pleased. That’s already more words than usual they’ve gotten out of their reticent friend. Not wanting to trouble Haku any longer, she gives her a dismissive but genuine wave of the hand before letting herself be buoyed away by the way of the waves. If Neru takes a little while to follow her out of the café’s perimeter, that’s alright.

There is room for more, always room for more. If Neru likes Haku then far be it for her to forbid them from each other, heavens forbid. If Neru decides that there’s only room in their heart for Haku then she won’t begrudge them that.

Perhaps that close, distant, nebulous future is coming quicker than accounted for, and Miku will love more than who she loves now, or she will love someone else, or—heavens forbid—she will no longer love at all.

But today. Today, she loves Neru. Tomorrow, who knows? Neru knows, maybe, or maybe they don’t, but that’s alright.

They’ve survived all their days yet, good and bad.

So when Neru meets her halfway, one step out the café’s door, Miku pulls them close and nuzzles their noses together, forehead to forehead, and she watches Neru melt before her, sour anxiety and salty grief escaping in a single shuddering sigh.

_Oh, Neru, beloved lover of mine. Do you think I love you less for this? Heavens no. If anything, I love you more, heart overflowing._

Thinking those thoughts, chewing on them like bubblegum, drop pop candy, testing out the shape of the words in her mouth and her mind, Miku makes a decision.

Bus tickets can always be purchased. Hope, broken once, will always leave behind an aftertaste of despair, even if rekindled.

“Stay tonight.” Miku whispers, lacing their fingers together. “Your place.” Then, lower still, barely a breath against Neru’s ear. “Love you always.”

Neru crumples and crumbles against her, tearlessly tearful. _Thank you, thank you,_ they don’t cry, because they’re Neru today and Neru isn’t one for things out in the open. Maybe in the comfort and confines of their home, their dingy little apartment on the outer edge of the city, but not here.

Leaning against each other, they make their way to that place now, handphone and handbag in hand in hand. Miku’s little miracle box goes clickety-clack, and Neru’s fingers go tippety-tap on the ever-glowing phone screen, typing words for Miku to read and smile and frown and laugh and cry, sour sometimes and salty other times yet never bittersweet, and she too in turn inspires the same.

Haku is a new puzzle piece they have to account for, but that’s alright. They’ll make it work all the same, even if it means shuffling the deck of Neru’s heart and leaving no cards for Miku to be dealt a hand.

Miku will still love them always. Today, she’s seen the sparks between Neru and Haku in person, knows what’s waiting in store for their relationship to feel out with tentative fingers; tomorrow, who knows? Life’s full of surprises like that. Best way to deal with it is to seize it by the horns and scream, _carpe diem!_

Overhead, the vast blue watches with an unseeing eye, turning ever dark yet darker. Skyfall, world’s end dancehall and all that jazz. Perhaps a more appropriate thing to scream would be: _Carpe noctum!_

Stars and stardust twinkle teal and gold. Well, the sky fell, now what? They dance all the way home. The world isn’t ending today. Tomorrow, who knows?


	2. Rin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something gets miscommunicated, and Miku doesn't know what.

Sometimes, Miku has trouble understanding things. But she always understands this first and foremost:

_She doesn’t see the world the same way others do._

(Or would it be kinder to say that others don’t see the world the way Miku does?)

In her eyes, the world is a lot more colourful, for one. Riotous rainbows, sharp saturations and horrendous hues, bright, far too bright.

That’s why she likes her home in the countryside, for all its faults. It’s quiet there, dim and muted with sepia-coloured filters painting everything the shade of nostalgia. Soft and slow and steady. A peaceful sanctuary for her silence-starved brain.

But here, in the sleepless city with all its sights and sounds? It’s like another world here, neon lights blazing unintelligible gibberish, promising everything for nothing: BUY NOW! FOR SALE! CALL THIS NUMBER, GO HERE, LOOK AT THIS, LOOK AT THAT, LOOK LOOK LOOK _WHY AREN’T YOU LOOKING—_

Miku shakes her head before the word starts to lose all meaning. Her eyes water, too dry; if she looks any more, they’ll itch up a storm. Here in the city, she feels like a changeling child, torn from hearth and home to be brought up in some bizarre fantasyland.

Alien, she’s an alien, here in this world. But isn’t that exciting, in its own terrifying way? Three hundred and twelve hours she remains in the comfort of her cozy home, and then for a thousand four hundred and forty minutes she gets to be an otherworlder for her lover to lead her heart astray.

Said lover now slowly awaking, blue eyes blinking away sleep to greet the dewy new day. Miku’s the early-riser between them, a habit that comes with being a countryside girl, but that doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy the sky blurring blue together. Post-sunrise, post-haste!

Together they cuddle, blankets a-cocooning, enough warmth retained from the drowsy weight of sleep to chase off the chilly air of 7:00AM. _Beep-beep,_ the alarm clock sings in its digital dulcet tones, _time to get up, wakey-wakey, rise and shine._

Miku watches in amused silence as the person beside her slams the device hard enough for a hand to be snatched away with a wince. She sighs and smiles, and the adorable face of Kagamine Rin bobs into view, cheeks puffed out in mock-anger.

“You _laughin’_ at me, huh?” Rin points an accusatory finger; it ends up booping Miku right on the nose, booooop, one second long for each vowel in that drawn-out word, that fun onomatopoeia, sound given physical space to occupy. “Criminal, ya hear! Punishment! One thousand to be paid, sakura-scented, post-haste!”

Miku laughs, fond. Morning-Rins are always Rins at their most colourful, vibrant and dazzling in a way that breath-takes instead of breaks. “Paid in what? Gold? Silver? Pocky sticks?”

If Miku’s the criminal, then Rin’s criminally cute, the way her nose scrunches up as she painstakingly weighs the offer made against the price she intends to take. One thousand pocky sticks? What a deal, what a steal.

“Offer considered— _rejected!_ Punishment must be paid for with smooches, as is customary for criminals who laugh at their girlfriends.”

Laughter, then, rough-and-tumble loud and giddy when Miku tackles her to the futon and peppers her face with kisses, one thousand owed and one thousand paid in full, plus interest. They barely make it beyond ten before Rin’s giggling gets the upper hand, full-body shakes as she bats away Miku’s grabby hands, whisper-shouting: _I surrender, have mercy, white flag!_

Ten is barely a thousand, though, and debts must be paid in full. Miku goes in for another kiss, whimpering when gently denied. Rin goes quiet, then, screws and gears and pride in her head tick-tocking almost loud enough for Miku to hear as she actually takes time to think a thought, _tick-tock-think-thonk._

Miku thinks, too.

 _Punishment._ Is it that, is that the word that hurts to hear? Steady hands cradle either side of Miku’s head, feather-light butterfly kisses brushing against her forehead, noses pressed together in a nuzzle.

Miku doesn’t realize she’s shaking until Rin shakes with her. Whose guilt is that, choking the air? How capricious, how cruel; what right does she have, to greet the sun with sadness?

“—Baby, baby, I’m sorry.” After a while she begins to hear again, background noise sharpening into concrete, comprehensible words. “Baby, I didn’t mean that, you know I don’t mean that. It’s not a punishment. I misspoke, baby, I’m sorry, I’m real sorry. I won’t use that word again.”

Miku sniffles. Rin wipes away the dampness with the pad of her right thumb. They stay like that for a while, slotted together like misshapen puzzle pieces forced to fit, waiting for the morning cold to make way for the heat of sunlight.

“…I’m sorry, too.” At last Miku says, once her tears are dry, and not from lack of trying or crying; she’s plain tuckered out by now, practically ready to go back to sleep, feeling grey. What a shameful way to start the day. But first, apologies need to be said. “Sorry for misunderstanding. Sorry I overreacted. It won’t happen again, I don’t know, maybe. Sorry.”

Colour won’t let her fade back into miserable grey that easily, no sirree. One boop on the nose for every unnecessary sorry, which means three in total: _just one’s enough, thank-you-very-much. Nuh-uh, no repeating yourself allowed, heard’cha loud and clear the first time!_

Rin goes on like that until Miku’s the one giggling wetly, hands pressed to her stomach that aches with laughter—the good kind, vintage-fermented, one that comes out champagne-bubbly after a big ol’ cry.

Rin’s got a motor-mouth and she knows that, takes advantage of it, rattling off a thousand words a minute, not for any debts to be paid (not that there are any) but outta the sheer goodwill charity of her own heart, y’know? She’s got words aplenty, enough to fill a conversation for two, and Miku loves that about her.

That’s the thing, that’s the crux and heart of the matter that draws Miku in like a teal moth to a sky-blue flame.

Neru’s prickly on their best days, genuine grade-A tsundere some might say, and on their not-so-good days they go wordless save for the written words on their handphone, words handpicked and mulled over before they can be typed out. To sum up: not a talker.

Rin, well. The colourful girl’s the exact opposite of that, all talk and barely any thought. Ergo: not a talker either, only because she screeches every other syllable; her voice is pretty and she knows it. Big ego, this one, almost as big as the white ribbon adorning her hairband.

(Probably why it hurts a little when those who Miku loves don’t love each other. Probably? Probably. Not something that can be remedied—like a certain someone would say, “post-haste!” But, well. They’re getting there, wherever there is. Somewhere. Maybe not today, but…

Tomorrow, who knows?)

Miku loves that, the dichotomy of their conversations. She likes to listen to her lover beloved, even when they’re not talking; maybe especially so. She’s a good listener when she’s not off in her own little world.

She listens now, to the cadence in Rin’s rambling speech, eyes crinkled all smile-like at the way the shame rolls off Miku’s shoulders like rain on asphalt, _away, begone foul demon, away!_

“Feelin’ better now, baby? ‘S all good? Attagirl.” Rin coos, petting Miku’s awful bedhead. Miku feels herself flush red for a different reason—Rin’s too good at this sometimes, pet names and teasing flirts coming naturally to her silver tongue that skilfully spins straw into gold.

Makes her heart all a-flutter, butterflies in her belly, but not unbearably so.

“Shower now.” Abruptly getting to her feet, Miku grins when Rin lets out a strangled muttered curse cut short, _fah—!_ She hisses like a cat and catloafs like one when Miku picks her up, as if she barely weighs more than a loaf of catbread, y’know, like: _nyah—!_ “And then… batting cages?”

Stilling for a second, Rin lets out a loud whoop, shrieking like a banshee, wriggling out of Miku’s grip and folding into a tactical roll as she hits the floor. Yeah, she cheers, yeah, yeah, yeah! Gonna slug some balls, hit those homeruns, and then she’s taking off towards the bathroom like a rocket while Miku trails her with eyes crinkled all smile-like.

They get going in record time and bat baseballs in record amounts; by the end of it, Miku’s arms have turned into limp spaghetti noodles and Rin has cooled down somewhat from gleefully manic to happily energetic. Which is a good thing in Miku’s opinion, because if Rin's still a bundle of aggressive nerves when they bump into a familiar green-haired girl, she’ll probably have whipped herself up into a frenzy and self-defense would’ve been justified.

As it is, Gumi only has to hide a smirk behind a hand as Rin circles her like a predator sizing up prey. Sighing, Miku gently tugs Rin away, slinging an arm around her shoulder to keep her close.

“Yo, Miku.”

“Gumi.”

Rin whips her head around to stare at Miku with narrow eyes; doubtless there’s a myriad questions on her mind like the myriad gods of Shinto. Miku scrambles to find answers for them all before they leave Rin’s lips—and is all the more relieved when Gumi herself meets her eyes with understanding, clearing her throat for a machinegun’s rapidfire response.

“Nakajima Megumi, but call me Gumi or else I’ll poke your eyes out—goggles for a reason, see? 20, same as Miku. Childhood neighbours, classroom buddies, eh, kinda exes now? But we’re on good terms, no biggie. Got called for this.”

Grabbing something out of a pocket, Gumi hands it over to Miku, closing her fingers into a fist around it before Rin can see what it is.

“Busy busy, so I’ll leave you two lovely ladies be. Strike one off the list for me, yea? Bye, Leeku!”

“Will do. Thanks, Gummy.” Miku says, Gumi already jogging off somewhere else. Rin’s pointed stare has intensified into dagger-quality sharpness by now, so she quickly stuffs what’s in her hand into her handbag and corrals the both of them somewhere else.

Somewhere else turns out to be the park adjacent to the batting cages; specifically, one of the benches bordering the perimeter. They’re barely seated before Miku feels that piercing gaze again, this time more pointed in its curiosity. In lieu of a verbal answer, she huffs out a sigh, retrieving from her bag: a white ribbon.

“Counter-gift.” Miku mumbles, suddenly shy. “For the fidget cube.”

Rin doesn’t say a word, eyes darting between Miku’s face and Miku’s hands. Her nose scrunches up, and not in a cute way; it looks like she’s holding back a snarl. When Miku holds the ribbon out to her, she flinches away as if it’s poison.

It makes Miku feel bad. “You don’t like it?”

Rin gives her a helpless shrug, arms wrapping around herself like she doesn’t know what to do with them. They sit there in slightly uncomfortable silence. Nervous, Miku’s leg starts to bounce; has she done something wrong, committed some unspoken crime? Is this another punishment? 

“It’s not your fault, okay!” Rin’s agitated cry snaps her out of her spiralling thoughts. Miku’s heart sinks at the expression Rin wears, one that she’s seen on her face far too many times for her liking. Familiar, but not a face Miku’s worn herself in quite a while.

(And always Rin, too. Never Neru or Len. Granted, she’s always been the most emotional of the three, but still…)

“I, I just—” The chatterbox girl tries to grasp for words to say, finds them slipping through her fingers like water through a sieve. “I don’t get it. It’s not _me_ who deserves it.”

“Not you?” Miku’s brows furrow, concerned.

Again, that one-shouldered shrug. “Neru’s the one who thought of it first.” Rin mutters, staring out at nothing. Miku doesn’t like that wilted stare; she prefers the daggers over this, this subdued agony. Nevertheless, she holds her tongue, patiently waiting for Rin to speak.

“Neru came up with the idea, and, and Len’s the one who bought the damn thing! All I did was give it to you, so…”

Understanding dawns in Miku’s thoughts, served piping hot, accompanied by a side-dish of pity. She immediately fridges it, knowing Rin will simply laugh the sentiment off with distaste; leftovers to be eaten later, perhaps. Or microwaved into oblivion, if they’re not hungry for it, and the scraps buried in soil, to be made fertilizer for other conversations instead.

“It doesn’t matter. This ribbon’s for you.”

That, perhaps, is the wrong thing to say. The smile Rin puts on is one Miku has never seen before, and she doesn’t like it. The smooth curl to her lip, teeth hidden, nothing at all like the wild grins Rin’s known for, the loud smiles that Miku’s in love with.

This smile is quiet, contemplative. Selfish and greedy.

“For _me_ , huh. Just for me?” Rin laughs, and oh how wrong that laugh sounds, polished like stones in a river. There’s no colour to it. “Thanks, Miku. I’ll be sure to treasure it.”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin. Rin never ever _ever_ refers to her by name. It stains the whole scene like poison and ink through water, leaving Miku feeling disconcertingly displaced.

Raising her gaze to the sky, Rin takes and lets out a few breaths, fingers clenched tight around the white ribbon. Then, looking at Miku once more, she nods her head just a bit, not quite meeting her eyes. “Today was fun. Have a safe trip back.”

“Um. Yeah. Sure.” The air between them feels suffocating now. Miku lifts her hand, stills, fingers twitching in mid-air. Not knowing how to fix this—this _wrongness_ between them, whatever it is. She gives up when Rin turns away with barely a wave goodbye. Miku just wants to go home, climb into her bed and maybe cry the night away. Post-haste.

She doesn’t know how to fix this. She doesn’t know if it’s something that can be fixed, or if it’s broken forever.

Everywhere around her, riotous rainbows, sharp saturations and horrendous hues shine bright, far too bright.

She leaves the city feeling greyer than ever.

(Is this punishment?)


End file.
